


Violet

by scepterofstardust



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Gen, It's a little violent, SaruMi - Freeform, Sarumi Week 2017, also Anna is Sarumi shipper #1, but Saruhiko just wants to protect :(, this was emotional to write wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepterofstardust/pseuds/scepterofstardust
Summary: Saruhiko had really underestimated how much he loved Yata Misaki. It was enough to wait forever. It was enough to bleed.





	Violet

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea a long time ago, and...yeah. Here's the angst.
> 
> tumblr: scepterofstardust  
> twitter: lunatic_yoongi

 

When the news reached Saruhiko, he didn't know what to think. He had sat in his chair, frozen, for far too long, mind rushing a mile a minute. 

 

  _-One of the members of HOMRA was targeted by the strain cluster we've been tracking. They finally made their move but we couldn't see them coming. They're dispatching everyone._

 

_-Who?_

 

_-I'm sorry?_

 

_-Who is it?_

 

_-The vanguard. Yata Misaki._

 

Saruhiko didn't know what to think.

 

So he didn't.

 

With words like _we'll arrive first_ and _critical condition_  and _we lost sight of him an hour ago_ swimming in the back of his throat and threatening to make him sick, he stopped thinking. He stopped being the cold logic he was so well known for.

 

Because, when it came to the vanguard of HOMRA, he had never been logical. That, among everything else, had not changed.

 

So he ran down the steps as fast as he could, ignoring the way his heart was beating too fast, ignoring the cold sweat that was creeping over him. In the transport vehicle, he flipped a knife from hand to hand, trying anything to quell the feeling of the ground being ripped out from under him. He felt Awashima watching him from her seat up front. He avoided her gaze in favor of observing the deadly sharp edge of his blade. Imagining what it was capable of.

 

It had been so long, so long since he let the fire pass his fingers for the last time, let that sickly sweetness coat his voice. Since he left Misaki behind in that alley, head clouded with twisted accomplishment.

 

And still he had not let go. Oh, he had wanted to, had wanted to stop forcing that cold expression on his face when he saw his best friend and begin feeling it truly. Some part of him knew he would never be that lucky. He would never be who he wanted to be, would never be that detached. At the heart of his betrayal, of all the pain he had caused, was that little boy he hated. The foolish child who clung fiercely to the only one who ever looked at him with something besides disdain. He wished he could take one of his knives and carve him out, leave behind a gaping hole. It hurt too much to be that boy. To still think like him. 

 

But like it or not, he was that boy, still. He couldn't deny it, not when he had felt his veins turn to ice when he was told that Yata Misaki was isolated from his family, and severely injured, and there were vast amounts of strains that wanted him dead. 

 

A bang on the back of the van announced their arrival, and Saruhiko was the first one out when the door opened. He stopped, stunned, when he saw the damage.

 

Beyond the gates, there were buildings in ruins, some of them exposed down to their skeletons. Metal and concrete made an urban graveyard, and a thick smoke obscured all of it. They could see nothing at all. All they had were the heat sensors that told them Yata Misaki was somewhere in the miles of destruction.

 

And that an ever-increasing number of strains were closing in on him.

 

The Blue King strode towards the damage as more Scepter Four vehicles pulled up to the scene, lights flashing. Awashima and Saruhiko followed him closely.

 

"How are we going to do this?" Awashima asked aloud as Reisi scanned the ever-expanding fog. "Sending men in with this low of visibility would be a mistake. We could lose a lot of people if we don't know what we're facing here."

 

"You are right," Reisi said slowly. "We're going to have to form a strategy-"

 

"No," Saruhiko interrupted, more panic in his voice than he would have liked. Awashima's head jerked towards him, along with several other soldiers surrounding them. 

 

"Fushimi," she scolded incredulously. "What are you-"

 

"I said, no." He repeated firmly, and he didn't know where this certainty had come from, didn't understand the way he pinned his King with a demanding stare, but he didn't back down, even when Reisi turned to look at him, amused.

 

"Well, then, what do you propose?" He didn't look angry that Saruhiko had cut him off, not even offended. Although, he wasn't exactly the sort to care, even when everyone else seemed to. 

 

And he did trust Saruhiko's judgment, if the amount of risky (but brilliant) plans he had allowed him to carry out were any sort of indicator. Saruhiko was counting on it.

 

"Me." Saruhiko said matter-of-factly, flipping a knife through his fingers as nonchalantly as he could muster. He knew this was not the most sound plan, as he'd never tested his power's limits, nor his limits in a large scale battle like this one, but he didn't care. Not at all. He knew that Misaki was out there, bleeding and alone. And he knew he had to get to him before the strains killed him. By any means necessary. A strategy would take too long, and he would not stake Misaki's life on Scepter Four, as much as he respected their strength. He would not stake Misaki's life on anyone, except perhaps HOMRA. But they weren't here. And sending in Reisi, while a valid option, wasn't smart given that he had an even higher price on his head than Misaki did.

 

So he staked it on himself.

 

"Care to elaborate?" Reisi was intrigued, just slightly, and Saruhiko knew that he could sway him.

 

"Let me go in," Saruhiko replied fiercely. "Let me level them all."

 

"And Yata Misaki?"

 

"I will not let them kill him." Saruhiko met his King's eyes, and put all of his rage, all of his anxiety, all of his conviction into his words. He let him see what he was capable of. Reisi knew full well that he would not fail, not when it was important. This was no different.

 

"What?"Awashima looked at Reisi for backup. "You can't, there's so many of them and there's too many variables-"

 

"What makes you so certain?" Reisi questioned curiously.

 

"This sword is not all that makes me, Captain. The flames do too. You know that." Saruhiko tapped his lapel to indicate his HOMRA mark. Reisi raised his eyebrows.

 

"I'm pleasantly surprised at your creativity. But are you sure that you will be able to balance both of them?"

 

"I have before. But I'm not worried about balance, quite frankly. I'm more concerned with how heavy a punch it can throw." Awashima gawked at him.

 

"You're...going to use all of your power?"

 

"Quite recklessly, I'm afraid," Reisi remarked. "But, I have faith in you. All of it deserved. And you have a rather strong motivation to drive you." Saruhiko's eyes narrowed, and he lifted his chin, ignoring the implication. Reisi was clever enough to realize that he did not truly hate HOMRA's vanguard, not in the way he was supposed to, that something behind it was falsified. But like many things, he never said it outright.

 

"You'll let me go, then?" Reisi sighed.

 

"I trust you are aware of the consequences that you might face." He meant the wrath of the Red clan, of course, if the Blues failed to save a member of their family, but Saruhiko saw Misaki, so small but so unstoppable, standing at his side. He saw all the days in classrooms, the bullies slammed into lockers, the days with sun and rain. The top bunk in the apartment creaking. The smell of food and the warmth of a home, not his but theirs. A fist resting on his collarbone reminding him of his power. Of his burden.

 

"I am," he agreed, placing his hand on his sword's hilt to hide the fact it was shaking.

 

"Then go," Reisi allowed, earning him a horrified look from his second in command. "If it does go wrong, I will send people in. Until then, it's up to you." Saruhiko nodded and his lips slid into a lopsided smirk.

 

"Thank you, sir." Awashima glanced between them and put her head in her hands. Reisi didn't bother saying be careful or anything of that nature. Saruhiko always was a bit too reckless in battle, but in the end, he kept his promises. So he would return. With Yata Misaki in tow. Reisi gave him a nod of acknowledgement and stepped out of the way without another word. Saruhiko drew his sword at once, but before he crossed through the barricade, he turned back to look at Reisi.

 

"Captain?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"When HOMRA gets here, tell Anna that I'm bringing him back. She will keep them from interfering."

 

"Very well." Saruhiko blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders back before he advanced across the gate. 

 

"Why did you let him go?" Awashima hissed as she watched Saruhiko disappear. "It's too dangerous!"

 

"He won't allow himself to fail," Reisi assured her calmly. "I know he won't." She threw up her hands and walked away to coordinate the other soldiers.

 

Once Saruhiko crossed the barricade, as he expected, the smoke made it near impossible to see anything. However, he'd seen Misaki's location on the map. Enough to tell where he should be heading.

 

He knew it would not be long before he ran into a strain, so Saruhiko reached down into the well of his power. Well, it was more like fumbling in the dark; he'd only done it once or twice. But this time was different. He wasn't looking to control the release. He was looking to unleash it all. His power from the Blue King was easier; he used it a lot and it was already dancing at his fingertips, across his saber. So he unraveled it all slowly, thread by thread, coaxing it out where he could reach it. When his power thrummed and then stung against his skin in warning, he patiently held his ground. He closed his eyes and concentrated on being calm, on convincing it that it was okay to lose control, that it was alright to release it from its constraints. It wasn't, of course, but Saruhiko could make it believe. He could twist it to an extension of himself, to someone who had their own idea of order.

 

But the fire that he had long since left behind was not so patient, not so easy. It was a power that made him grit his teeth, made him hesitate. He could sense how restless it was from being locked up, sense its endless desire to burn through anything and everything. He could feel it glaring at him through the bars of its cage, pacing back and forth. The red power was not willing, not malleable. It couldn't be coaxed, reasoned with. It burned with passion, not logic. It was a trigger for a loaded gun.

 

So he pulled the trigger and ran.

 

The surge of power that ripped into him had him gasping, and he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. His body was buzzing with energy, maybe too much, and he had to get rid of it, had to move but everything _ached_. He stared in fascination as flames flickered along his sword, as heat swarmed through his muscles to clash with the cool blue. He lifted his head and straightened his blade, as the first strain lunged at him from the fog. 

 

And he got to work.

 

Saruhiko knew that the other soldiers in Scepter Four, other than the ones he had become grudgingly close with, thought him a monster. He heard the whispers that followed him in the halls, about how he must be heartless to have done all those things, about how he was scarier than the King. About how he probably had killed, even though it was heavily discouraged. About how he couldn't be trusted.

 

He was willing to be that monster, when the urgent anxiety in his chest was driving him to be. When what was left of his heart was telling him he had to get to Misaki, had to find him _whole_ , or it was going to hurt. 

 

So it didn't cause him much discomfort, really, when he swung his blade directly into the strain's chest. He had to, because even though they had a huge red gash across their body, they clung onto him and snarled, hoping to impede his path. If the fire licking his sword made it hurt more, good, because no matter what happened, he could not stop until he completed his mission.

 

Twenty strains tried to stop him. Then thirty. Then he lost count.

 

He kept going, letting his power clear the way. He let the flames crack the cement, let it melt tar until strains got stuck, let it engulf strains whole. He let the blue shield him, let the knives he threw inflict the deepest wounds. The screams of pain were distant to him, and he filtered them out in favor of searching for the one thing he did care about. He looked for Misaki's red hair, for that stupid white t-shirt that he always wore, for anything at all, but so far, nothing. He'd be lying if he said the distress in him wasn't growing with each second that went by, making his hands tremble.

 

He really had underestimated how much he loved Yata Misaki. It was enough to wait for him forever, enough to bleed.

 

He pulled another strain in close, in a headlock, and forced unbearable heat into their body, ignoring the way they gasped for air and thrashed. He removed his grip on their neck as soon as they went limp.

 

Oh, he hated them. He hated every single strain that he saw. Regardless of their idiotic intentions, they had taken Misaki from his family, had caused him harm. And they had forced him into this situation, in the middle of a battle against an unknown number with his heart thudding in his chest from fear. Not for himself, no, he was practically unscathed, but for his best friend that he had tried so very hard to forget.

 

He couldn't remember being this out of control, this lost. All he wanted was Misaki, all he wanted was to find him and shield him. And maybe, although he wouldn't dare to hope, Misaki wouldn't see a monster, maybe he could see that he had meant well because he hadn't left him, not when it mattered, not this time. Even if he couldn't, he would be alright. Misaki would still be alive, hating him and sitting in that bar. That was enough.

 

So he didn't care if his blade slit their throats, if the fire burned their skin to the bone. He didn't care if they died of blood loss or from the fumes. If his sword through their chests turned their bodies to ash, then so be it. If he destroyed the ground he walked on, fine. If the icy blue was so potent that his lips were turning purple, that was alright. This was his battlefield, and he was fighting for the boy he called his best friend (quietly, into the night because it wasn't that way anymore.) If he left this storm, this haze of power, he did not care if he stepped over corpses on the way out. After all, it was them who had signed their death warrant.

 

The pure, unfiltered power rushing through his veins was making him lightheaded now. His whole body was on fire, and the pain got worse with each minute that he fought. He was drenched in cold sweat, and even though the flames were burning him from the inside out, his teeth chattered. The smoke he'd created by using the red power was making it hard to breathe, and he was fairly sure that he was not walking in a straight line anymore. It was clearly a sign to stop.

 

But he had never been one to do what he was supposed to, of course.

 

So when another strain jumped on him from behind, he stumbled, but he used their momentum to roll forward, and the resulting crack of their unbalanced landing on their spine was admittedly satisfying. Out of patience, he pinned the strain to the ground, grip burning the fabric on their clothes. The resulting smell was horrendous.

 

"Where. Is. He." Saruhiko hissed, trying not to let on the fact that his legs were wobbling.

 

Someone behind him let out an appreciative whistle, and Saruhiko froze, eyes on the strain below him that was now smirking. Disgusted, he used his grip to slam them into the ground, hard enough to knock them out. He turned then, hand braced on the hilt of his sword. 

 

His eyes settled on the sight of two strains, a young man and a middle aged woman, standing in the smoke. He registered next the boy dumped on the ground between them, a bloodied heap of tan limbs and white t-shirt. It took only a moment for Saruhiko to notice everything, the red staining his clothes, the way his body was limp and motionless. 

 

"We thought the Reds would come, but you'll do just fine," the woman said in a false sweet tone. "I can't wait to-" 

 

Too fast for them to see, Saruhiko had a knife in each hand and he struck with as much force as he could muster. His arms were a bit slow in obeying him, but his aim didn't fail; both knives, charged with heat, sunk into his targets, deep enough in their midsections that they wouldn't survive. Before they had even hit the ground he had staggered to Misaki's side, dropping to his knees. It was much worse up close - Misaki had a split lip, and Saruhiko could see bruises blooming on his face and arms. There were blood stains across his abdomen, signs that he was cut underneath his shirt. His hands had scraped up knuckles, flesh tinted red.

 

Saruhiko fought to keep his balance as he leaned over and shook Misaki by his shoulder, careful not to squeeze too hard.

 

"Misaki," he rasped, hoping to wake him up. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to manage carrying dead weight in this state. Misaki groaned distantly, and his face tensed up in pain. His eyes opened the smallest fraction. Saruhiko pulled his hand back, unsure of how his presence would be received. However, Misaki seemed too tired, or too near unconsciousness, to care very much.

 

"Saru?" he murmured, blinking sluggishly. He seemed more relieved than angry, which Saruhiko took as a good sign.

 

"Yeah, it's me," he bit out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as his head spun. He had to contain his power soon, he was barely conscious himself. 

 

"You look like shit," Misaki informed him weakly. Saruhiko managed a drunken laugh. There was a dull ringing in his ears.

 

"Yeah, so do you, Misaki." The other boy scowled at him, or maybe it was just a wince as he experimentally curled his fingers inwards. Saruhiko sat on the ground next to him. 

 

"Besides, if I look like shit, it's your fault," Saruhiko said airily, letting his head drop to one side. 

 

"Really?" Misaki squinted at him in slight confusion. 

 

"Of course, it's so messy, I wouldn't have come here if I didn't have to."

 

"Why did you, then?"

 

"...I had to." Misaki stared blankly at him. 

 

"They were gonna kill you," Saruhiko amended quietly.

 

"Right..." Saruhiko watched him struggle to keep his eyes open.

 

"I don't suppose I could get you to limp the several miles back out of here."

 

"Hell no."

 

"I figured." Saruhiko tasted metal in his mouth as he pulled his PDA out of his coat to activate the flare signal. Someone would track him and they'd send paramedics. He had promised he'd bring Misaki back, but this would have to do. He was in no state for it. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. It took more effort to cut off the power than it had to get it out, and once he shut both powers away again, the remaining energy drained out of him. He felt more tired than he'd been in months, and he slumped to the ground, lying flat on his back next to Misaki, who looked at him drowsily.

 

"Weren't you supposed to...I don't know, let me die? Since I'm your enemy now and all that bullshit?" Misaki questioned faintly. Saruhiko scoffed and pointed at the other boy threateningly.

 

"This is the last time I fight for you," Saruhiko warned him, ignoring the warm blood he felt on his lips. (He didn't mean that. Of course he didn't. He'd fight for Yata Misaki with his dying breath. Until he had nothing. Because even when he had nothing, Misaki was still out there. Somewhere. Burning bright. He hated him, sure. But if Misaki still burned, Saruhiko could never truly lose him.)

 

Misaki shook his head, eyes slipping closed. 

 

"Yeah, whatever." There was a small smile on his lips, and Saruhiko didn't understand it, but he sat back and waited. The silence after the battle was deafening. The smoke was clearing a little now, drifting aimlessly above their heads and past their legs. 

 

"Really...why did you?" Misaki kept his eyes closed but leaned slightly in Saruhiko's direction. "Why did you come get me? I'm sure no one wanted you to." Saruhiko frowned at him.

 

"Wow, your confidence in me is astounding."

 

"Yeah, I know. Tell me." So, he wasn't going to give up, then. Saruhiko shrugged as carelessly as he could.

 

"Well, yeah. No one wanted me to, really. I made the decision myself."

 

"What? What does that mean?"

 

"It means I walked up to the Captain and told him his plans were useless."

 

"Oh my God."

 

"Not in those words, of course."

 

"Yeah, that makes it better," Misaki snorted. "So, what, I'm supposed to believe you ignored your superiors out of the goodness of your heart and just ran in here?" Saruhiko fixed his gaze on the gray sky that was becoming visible. 

 

"Believe whatever you want," he said flatly. He saw the movement out of the corner of his eye as Misaki rolled onto his side with a grimace.

 

"Whatever I want?"

 

"Mm." There was a beat of silence, so Saruhiko glanced at him, eyebrows raised in question.

 

"What if..." Misaki swallowed, rubbing at a cut on his arm. "What if that _is_ what I want to think?" Saruhiko's eyes widened, and he stared at the other boy in confusion. "What if I...what if I believe that?"

 

"Believe what?"

 

"I...don't know, that...maybe..." Misaki bit his lip as he stuttered. "You didn't, um, want me to die..." 

 

"It's foolish to believe the best in people," Saruhiko answered around the lump in his throat. "Surely you know that."

 

"Of...of course I do," Misaki said defensively. "You think after how many times we've fought I don't know that?"

 

"I suppose you're right." Saruhiko's head was pounding from fatigue, but he narrowed his eyes at the other boy suspiciously. "But what are you trying to say, anyways?"

 

"I'm just...trying to say that, I don't, um..." Misaki was searching his face for some sort of clue. Saruhiko wouldn't give him one. "You act like you hate me. But I don't know if I believe you." Saruhiko's face twisted in disgust.

 

"You should," he replied tightly.

 

"But I don't," Misaki insisted quietly. "I don't believe it, Saru. You can't hate me, you..." There were tears in those amber eyes, and Saruhiko clenched his fists at his sides. "We were best friends, and-and no matter what happened, no matter what I did, no matter what _we_ did, that doesn't just...stop, does it?" 

 

"I can't hate you?" Saruhiko heard the tremble in his voice and loathed himself more than ever.

 

"No," Misaki whispered.

 

"But I do," Saruhiko said weakly. "I do."

 

"Really?" Misaki questioned softly. "Then why did you save me?" Saruhiko's vision was going blurry now, and he couldn't lie. He didn't have the strength, not when his chest still hurt from the panic of not knowing if Misaki was safe.

 

"Maybe not," he admitted. "Maybe not always. Maybe just sometimes." Misaki looked relieved, and he gave Saruhiko a small smile.

 

"Sometimes?"

 

"Yes." Saruhiko felt exposed, felt like he wanted to run as far away as possible. He always lied. Always. But he'd just told Misaki the truth for the first time in years. It was uncomfortable and dangerous.

 

"Good," Misaki said happily. "That's good."

 

"I think you must have gotten hit over the head," Saruhiko mumbled. It felt better, to be sarcastic. Less vulnerable.

 

"Ah, shut up." Misaki smacked his arm, only succeeding in hurting himself as the cuts on his arm stretched. He hissed quietly, and Saruhiko held in a laugh.

 

"You really can't be trusted by yourself, can you?"

 

"Yeah, yeah." Misaki stopped fussing and glanced up at him. "You should talk. What the hell did you do to get in here? You got to me and then you practically collapsed."

 

"It doesn't concern you," Saruhiko sighed. "I'm fine."

 

"Oh, right, I haven't heard that one before." Saruhiko was on the verge of rolling his eyes, but Misaki paused at the sound of approaching voices and footsteps. He pointed.

 

"Those yours?" Saruhiko looked up and caught sight of the Scepter Four soldiers and paramedics coming towards them.

 

"Yeah." The small group finally reached them, and the paramedics first came to him, inspecting his condition. He threw one of their arms off his shoulder.

 

"Not me," he snapped. "Help him."

 

"But-" The medic was a young woman, and she looked terrified of him.

 

"Don't argue with me." She backed off quickly and went to help Misaki get up. It took two people to support him, and they started to walk back towards the gate. Misaki seemed a little dazed when he got upright, but he looked over his shoulder at Saruhiko worriedly. Saruhiko gave him a brief wave to let him know he'd be alright. It appeared to satisfy him, and he let the medics walk him away. Saruhiko grudgingly allowed himself to be led out, leaning heavily on a medic and trying to hide the fact that he was extremely nauseous. With the strain-created smoke almost cleared, it was much easier to leave quickly, and Saruhiko avoided looking too long at the bodies they passed. When the flashing lights of the Scepter Four vehicles were finally in sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was over, and as he'd predicted, he'd succeeded. Everything was going to be fine, once he slept off the illness he'd brought on by overworking himself. 

 

"Saruhiko," he heard Misaki say. Saruhiko tried to focus and looked towards him slowly.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Thank you," Misaki said earnestly, a bit of a smile in his exhausted eyes. "I didn't say it before." Saruhiko managed a surprised nod as Misaki limped towards the medic's van. Saruhiko was distracted from him by Reisi and Awashima striding in his direction.

 

"I was worried when you called for help!" Awashima told him anxiously. "Are you alright?"

 

"Fine," he replied, exasperated.

 

"You did well," Reisi said with an approving tilt of his head. "Not that I expected anything else."

 

"Thank you, sir." Saruhiko dipped his head the smallest bit.

 

"Apologies, I'll let them have a look at you," Reisi said, moving out of the way. "Awashima, won't you help me with something over here?" She paused, eyes sweeping over Saruhiko's demeanor before she followed the King. The medics had just sat Saruhiko down in the back of their vehicle when a white haired little girl climbed up into the car. 

 

"Saruhiko," Anna called, approaching him without hesitation. Her heels made a clacking noise on the floor of the van, and he watched her come closer, motionless.

 

"Anna," he said, startled. "I brought him back."

 

"I saw," she answered with a beaming smile. "Thank you."

 

"Uh, y-yeah, of course."

 

"I knew you would," she said, patting his knee. "Saruhiko would do anything to help Misaki, right?" He stared at her.

_She was always too smart for him._

 

"Are you hurt too badly?" She asked, eyes searching him for injuries.

 

"Not really," he assured her. "Just need some rest, is all."

 

"Good," she said, still smiling at him. "I'd better get back, then. Take care of yourself, Saruhiko. Don't make Misaki worry after you." He opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn't exactly in a position to have Misaki fussing after him, but she was already climbing down and waving at him as she walked away. He blew out a long breath. Anna hurried back over to where Kusanagi and the others were gathered around Misaki like a restless flock of birds. He felt, like always, a million miles away from them. So disconnected that he may as well not know them at all. 

 

He was definitely still that little boy, he thought as he watched Misaki smile sheepishly at them, waving off their concern and trying to act tough. Still so unlike them, despite being undeniably fascinated with their source of energy, their bright light. Still so unable to find where he was meant to be.

 

But when Anna turned around to smile at him again, and Misaki waved to him shyly, he thought that maybe, he still had a chance. Maybe, if he just stood on the sidelines some more, he could find it. Maybe he could finally love Misaki freely, maybe his best friend would walk with him, fight with him again.

 

If he just kept waiting.

 


End file.
